The Same Old Scene
by misqueue
Summary: Set between 4x14 "I Do" and 4x15 "Girls (and Boys) On Film". After the hook up at Will and Emma's non-wedding, Kurt doesn't know what he wants, Blaine does his best to be it anyway, and nothing really changes. That doesn't mean this doesn't matter. For klaineadvent 2013 prompt #14 Neon. Part 14 of Scenes During the Break Up. mild angst, sexual content


Title from Roxy Music's "Same Old Scene". Neon is an inert gas.

* * *

**February 2013**

From the passenger seat, Blaine watches Tina unlock her front door. She turns back and waves before she goes inside; she looks happy. Blaine feels happy. Smiling, he waves back.

Beside him, Kurt asks, "So how long has this been going on with Tina anyway?" Kurt turns to look over his shoulder as they back out of Tina's drive. Kurt's borrowed his Dad's SUV for the day, and had picked up Blaine at school to take him to the movies. Tina agreed to join them. The afternoon has been close to perfect, spending time like they once did. Blaine could almost forget it's his senior year, not Kurt's. Almost, but not quite.

As they wend their way out of Tina's subdivision and back to the main road heading east, Blaine explains the whole business of Tina's crush as best he can (given he was unconscious for the incident that's prompted Kurt's question). He tries to put words to the value of her friendship, the ways she's been there for him that have made him feel both cared for and wanted (and he makes sure it's clear to Kurt that he doesn't mean sexually).

"So, I mean, we're okay," Blaine says, at last. "I know she didn't mean any harm."

Kurt's expression is a tad sour. "That's not really the point, but, if you're okay, then..." Kurt shrugs.

"I guess so?" Blaine says. Mostly he doesn't want to dwell on it. He's riding home with Kurt, and his parents are out overnight. Not that he wants to assume anything's going to happen between him and Kurt, even though the casual touches and the looks they've shared today have been charged with the memories of Saturday. He just wants to enjoy their last day together before Kurt returns to New York and Blaine's back to not knowing when they'll see each other again.

It's because he's realized that friendship truly is the most important thing, whether it's Tina or Kurt or Sam. And after Kurt's reluctance to talk about what they shared in the hotel room, Blaine's not going to initiate anything, no matter how much he may want it. He'll let Kurt make those overtures if he chooses to.

By the time they're pulling in to Blaine's driveway, the conversation has moved on from Tina's crush, to Diva week in general, and Kurt's saying he wishes he could have seen Blaine power through a Queen number with a fever.

"Would you like to come in for a while?" Blaine asks. "Or do you need to head home straight away?"

"Um," Kurt says. "Well, I spent yesterday with my family. I can come in for a while."

"Great!" Blaine says, and Kurt pulls in to the guest parking space.

They go inside, and there's a not entirely comfortable silence between them as they hang their coats in the foyer, but Kurt's smiling, so Blaine aims for normal. "So what would you like to do? Another movie?"

Kurt pauses in folding his gloves and wrinkles his nose at the suggestion. After all, they're just back from the double feature. Blaine considers the other ways they used to spend their time together. Music, movies, reading or studying together, talking, Kurt teaching him how to cook, sex. Most often it was sex when they were on their own.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" he asks. That's the place for most of those things. He's too full of popcorn and candy to want more food yet, but he's quietly hoping Kurt may agree to stay for dinner.

Kurt tucks his gloves into the pocket of his coat, looks at the ceiling and then at some indeterminate area below Blaine's chin. His smile fades. "I don't know if that's a good idea."

"We can just hang out, you know? Like we used to?" Blaine holds his hand out, palm up, within the line of Kurt's gaze.

Kurt hesitates before he reaches across the space between them, places his hand in Blaine's; he looks back up and offers a cautious, "Okay."

.

Upstairs, Blaine gestures for Kurt to sit on the bed, but Kurt makes no move to, he just stands between the bed and the armchair. Blaine says, "You know where the magazines are. I'll just put on some music?"

"Yeah, sure," says Kurt, but his expression is drawn in concern and the line of his shoulders is tense.

"Are you in the mood for anything in particular?" Blaine asks and then realizes that may sound overloaded, so he adds, "Music wise?"

Kurt blinks rapidly and looks about the room; he hasn't been here since they broke up. Kurt eyes the bed cautiously as if it's a treacherous landscape. "Did you bring him here?" Kurt asks. The words come out stilted and hollow. "Is this where you—?" Kurt breaks off with a hiccuping breath, and Blaine sees his rising distress.

"_No_," Blaine speaks quickly to reassure—to banish the very idea of it. His fingers freeze on the wheel of his iPod. "No. God, no, Kurt. He was never here."

Kurt relaxes, and the corner of his lips tugs into a suggestion of a smile. "Roxy Music then?" Kurt asks, with an easier sidelong glance at Blaine, and he bends to unlace his shoes. "It seems like we used to listen to that a lot in here."

"Sure, whatever you want." Blaine finds the playlist and pushes play. It's true that they did used to listen to this one a lot—sometimes Blaine worried they listened to it too much for Kurt's tastes, but then Kurt started asking Blaine to play it, and it became a regular choice when they spent time together Blaine's room. But it's also a playlist that Blaine associates so much with time spent with Kurt that he hasn't played these songs for a few weeks now.

The tender panging of the electric guitar opens on "More than This" and brings with it the expected wave of memory: bare skin cast in ocher lamplight, heat and sweat, and the breath of summer nights through the open window. Anticipation drawn into the most delightful agony; touches gentle and demanding, commanding; a scarf around his wrists or covering his eyes. Blaine blinks back the even more vivid images and sensations the music stirs, and tries to remember if there were any interesting articles in the latest Rolling Stone to mention. Something to talk about that's not so heavy. But when he turns back to Kurt, he finds Kurt standing beside the bed still, waiting for him with his own hand extended in invitation. A question burns in his gaze. Oh.

_"I could feel at the time,  
There was no way of knowing." _

When Blaine unsticks his tongue—and he doesn't dare hope, and he didn't expect, but— "Feeling nostalgic?" he asks.

_"Fallen leaves in the night,  
Who can say where they're blowing?" _

"A little," Kurt says; his voice is soft with uncertainty. "Is that all right?"

"Yes," Blaine says. Swallows down Kurt's name, and goes to him. For an instant, he wants to lower himself to his knees, wants to offer up all of himself to Kurt: it's the pull of the music, there were so many times—

But he doesn't, because Saturday Kurt said he didn't think he could. And Blaine understands why that's how it has to be. Kurt's leaving tomorrow; they're not together; and Blaine doesn't want to ask for more than Kurt's able to give—nor does he want try to give Kurt more than he asks for.

Kurt glances down at their joined hands and then back up to Blaine's face; his gaze catches on Blaine's lips. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about kissing you," Kurt says, barely above a whisper. The gaze he flicks up to Blaine's eyes is unexpectedly shy. It seems Kurt's mind is elsewhere too, on a different past intimacy set to the same soundtrack.

"Oh," Blaine exhales, because he remembers this moment—or something very much like it. It's like _déjà vu_, except it's a true recollection: a flash of Kurt—nearly two years ago, younger, more innocent—standing fretfully in Blaine's bedroom for the first time. He'd been wearing that white jacket with the padlocks. His top hat sat in the chair by the window. It was after school the day he'd transferred back to McKinley, and the separation—of even just that afternoon—had made Blaine's desire for Kurt seem so urgent and huge. _"Me too,"_ he'd said, and laughed. _"I got in trouble for not paying attention in Latin class."_

_"More than this—there is nothing.  
More than this—tell me one thing?" _

"May I kiss you?" Kurt prompts in Blaine's silence, tugging Blaine closer. He's blinking too fast and his lips are a slim, nervous line. But the _words_. They're the same too, as his memory. He studies Kurt's gaze, confirms this isn't coincidence.

"You don't need to ask," Blaine says, because he thinks that's how he responded back then, He tilts his head and leans in to meet Kurt halfway. He's not sure what they're doing, but if a memory of the early days in their romance is something Kurt wants to revisit, then Blaine is certainly amenable to accommodating that desire. It feels like he's been granted a reprieve from the more difficult things that could be haunting them.

The tension in Kurt's lips melts into soft familiarity as they part against Blaine's. It's less chaste than their early kisses used to start out. Kurt's tongue is already slipping past Blaine's bottom lip, dipping in deeper to coax out Blaine's response. Blaine remembers when every kiss was a novelty, every little variation something to be savored and noted. It feels the same way now, when any kiss could be the last one Kurt chooses to give him. He's breathing heavily already when he slides his mouth to the side to say, "Shall we sit down together? On the bed?" He remembers saying that clearly.

"Yeah," Kurt breathes back. "Yes."

It had been such a bold move back then, their first time making out in assured privacy, the first time upon a bed together as boyfriends. They sit, and Blaine cups Kurt's jaw, moves back in for another kiss, and Kurt kisses him back tenderly and with unhurried relish. For a time it's all soft breath, slow tongue, and curious lips; Blaine's hand cradling Kurt's face, and Kurt's hand resting upon Blaine's shoulder.

Inevitably, it gets hotter and their kisses deepen. When Blaine hears Kurt's whimper lengthen into a low moan, he presses kisses down Kurt's neck, nuzzles beneath his jawline to find the vibrations of Kurt's voice. But the fuzzy high neck of Kurt's sweater foils his attempts at much more than that. So he slides a hand down to the hem of Kurt's sweater, carefully begins tugging it up to suggest removing it. "Would you mind?" he asks. "Taking this off?"

Kurt swallows and shakes his head. Blaine helps him with his sweater, until Kurt's pulling it off over his head and tossing it toward the chair. In its wake, Kurt's hair is ruffled and staticky. Combined with the flush staining his cheeks, it makes him look younger, in accord with memory. Blaine remembers from the past, pulling on one of the padlocks fastening the white jacket and asking Kurt, _"Can we do something about this?"_

Kurt had unhooked the ring of keys from around his neck and passed them to Blaine, blushing furiously and saying, _"Go ahead and... um, unlock me."_

It had taken a long time, trying keys in each lock to find the right one, then unlocking it, pulling it free and setting it aside on his nightstand. Kurt leaned back as Blaine worked, his breath quick and his eyes bright. And it had been as if Kurt were, in that moment, _his_ in a way Blaine hadn't expected or anticipated. Just the simple act of opening those locks was an unwrapping of a gift, the granting of an unexpected and strange intimacy.

And it was, up until that point in time, the most desperately erotic moment of Blaine's life. When the last lock had come free and Kurt sat back up to shyly take off the jacket, his hands were trembling and his neck was blotched red. Blaine had glanced down and seen how hard Kurt was in his pants—as hard as Blaine himself was. And Blaine had a wild hope in the moment, that maybe this was the day they'd have sex for the first time.

It hadn't been—that wouldn't happen for several more months—but he'd known then that Kurt would be the one for him eventually. At least he wanted him to be. Their next kiss was the hottest yet, strained full of inarticulate desire.

"Would you like to lie down?" Blaine asks next, hears his voice in the present overlaid with the more tentative delivery of his past self. Reorients himself in Kurt's presence now.

"Yes," Kurt answers.

Wide-eyed and breathless, Kurt lies back into Blaine's pillows, and Blaine moves over him. He kisses Kurt as if they're beginning again: chaste and soft, only gradually coaxing Kurt open again. And Kurt opens so beautifully, letting Blaine in to linger within such lush deep kisses. His hands around Blaine's shoulders hold Blaine close, and Blaine dares to rest a hand low on Kurt's waist.

As they kiss his hand drifts down to where Kurt's t-shirt is tucked into his jeans, and Blaine tugs the edge free just enough that he can slip his hand up beneath it, venturing shyly over the trembling muscles of Kurt's belly. It's flatter and firmer than it was then, but just as gloriously warm and smooth. Kurt shivers beneath his touch, and Blaine eases from the kiss to let Kurt speak if he wishes, to see what permission may lie in Kurt's hooded gaze.

"We probably shouldn't go much further..." Kurt whispers, still playing at their past make-out session. This was the day when they'd decided that below the belt would remain _terra incognita._

Blaine plays along. "Do you want to stop?" he asks gently, stroking over Kurt's skin.

"I don't know." Which abruptly doesn't sound like play; even though the words are right, the tone is wrong. From memory, 'I don't know' was Kurt speaking a yes he was afraid of saying. But Blaine isn't sure it's not honest uncertainty right now, if Kurt wants to stop or if he wants more. Blaine doesn't know what Kurt wants from him.

Blaine hesitates. Removes his hand from under Kurt's t-shirt. "Talk to me, please?"

A grimace. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"Okay, then what?"

"Just..." Kurt reaches up and undoes the buttons at Blaine's collar. "How can I still want you like this?"

Blaine presses his lips together and passes his hand over Kurt's rumpled shirt, smoothing it back down. "Do you actually want me to try to answer that for you?"

"No." Kurt rolls his head sideways to look off at the wall. "What was it like? With Eli?"

It's not a name Blaine wants to hear. He doesn't want to go through all of this with Kurt again, especially not now. The futility of trying to explain it remains. Blaine doesn't know the right words to convey how sure he'd been that he'd lost Kurt to New York, the way his choking loneliness and despair had clicked over into a mad sort of exhilaration, and thus, how moving toward Eli had seemed like an inevitability in that moment, an urgent rebellion and confirmation he couldn't resist. How he'd been burning up with his righteous defiance and anger, how he'd mistaken the heat in his veins for truth.

The sex had been direct and physically satisfying but so impersonal. It had left him violated within his own heart and overexposed in his body. When it was over, the cold clarity had overtaken him. How could he explain to Kurt how terrified he was when the understanding of what he'd done crashed in?

Blaine wishes he knew how to explain to Kurt: the only thing that matters about Blaine's encounter with Eli is that it reaffirmed and confirmed Blaine's devotion to Kurt. Nothing else is germane to Blaine's feelings now. But Kurt still hurts over it, and Blaine can't fix that with words.

All he has is the here and now with Kurt, where the beat of Blaine's heart is steady, quickened with desire, but pulsing with warmth and safety. He's not confused or lost, but settled and sure. And anyway, he thinks what Kurt's looking for is not Blaine's guilt, but reassurance. "It wasn't anything like this," Blaine says simply.

"What's different?"

"You know what's different, Kurt."

Kurt drags a fingertip down the side of Blaine's neck. "This is better."

"So much better."

"Even though we're not—?" Kurt leaves it hanging, for Blaine to confirm and acknowledge: this doesn't mean what Blaine keeps wanting it to mean.

He makes himself smile; he can tell Kurt that he understands and he accepts. Softly he echoes and completes: "Even though we're not together."

"Okay," Kurt says, and then, "Will you kiss me some more?"

"Are we going back to that day again?"

Kurt's gaze casts down, his eyelashes fan soft above his flushed cheeks. "You told me at Christmas you wished for a time machine. Sometimes I wish I had one too. I wonder sometimes if we'd done things differently, if..."

"Hey," Blaine says, tries to coax Kurt's eyes back up with a touch to Kurt's face. "We don't have to do any hard stuff today. We can just be together."

There's still a tinge of sadness in Kurt's smile. "I remember wanting you so badly then, the day I transferred back? Meeting you after school? I hardly knew what the feeling was. I was so scared of how much I just wanted, and I didn't understand it. It was so much more than I expected, and I didn't know what to ask for or how to ask, so I just kept... kind of... avoiding it, I guess? Sometimes I wonder how it would have been if I'd been braver."

"And now?"

"I don't know. It's completely different, but..."

"Are you scared now?"

"It scares me sometimes when I don't understand why I want something. You know that."

"You can want something just because you want it," Blaine says. "It doesn't have to be complicated."

"I doubt you actually believe that, Blaine. Considering."

"Well, I can choose not to make it complicated, can't I?"

Kurt huffs a soft laugh. "What about you? Are you afraid?"

"I'm not afraid to be with you now. I wasn't then either."

"No?"

"No, I knew exactly what I wanted. But I also knew you were less sure."

"You never said anything," Kurt says. "You could have told me. We could have talked."

"I knew you were scared. I didn't want to scare you more," Blaine says. "I'm not sure we could have. I'm not sure I would have been brave enough to tell you."

"Well, will you tell me now? What you wanted then?"

"How about..." Blaine lets his gaze travel down, along with his hand to the hem of Kurt's t-shirt. He carefully works more of it free of Kurt's waistband. When he has enough slack, he pushes it up to bare skin. Then he looks back to Kurt. "I could show you? If you want?"

"All right."

In a far bolder move than he would have made in the past, Blaine presses his smile to Kurt's exposed belly. He works his way up slowly, pushing Kurt's t-shirt as he trails lips and breath up to Kurt's sternum. He follows with his hands, skimming over Kurt's ribs, finding the slight swell of his pecs, but skirting around his nipples without touching them.

The beat of Kurt's heart is vivid beneath Blaine's lips, and he listens for Kurt to speak, to ask or direct him. But Kurt's not asking, he's not saying anything at all. Just breathing raggedly and clutching at the duvet. So Blaine works his way back down with slower, opening kisses. When he's back at Kurt's belly, he slides his mouth down the edge of Kurt's belt, kisses along, nips at the softer flesh of Kurt's belly with his lips and presses his thumbs just below the band of Kurt's waistband, massaging outwards while dipping lower to catch the sensitive skin bracketed by Kurt's hips.

And then, Kurt's hand bumps past Blaine's cheek and fumbles at his own belt, pulling the leather through the buckle with a _slither_ and _clink_, and Kurt's saying, with so little breath the word is a fragile thing, gossamer thin, suspended in the air for a long moment before it settles: "Please?" It's perfect.

The walls seem to draw close around Blaine then, embracing him in the few tender seconds before he moves, one hand down to rest his fingers lightly upon the rough denim covering the thick line of Kurt's erection. Beneath his fingers, Kurt's pulse surges eagerly.

So softly, Blaine asks, with all the trepidation of his imagined past self, "Do you want me to touch you here?"

"Yes," Kurt exhales. His fingers work the top button of his jeans undone, and then scrabble at—and fail to lift—the tab of the zipper.

"Let me?" Blaine asks. He folds his hand around Kurt's, his thumb slides under Kurt's palm, and his fingertips skate across Kurt's restless knuckles.

"Okay." Kurt moves his hand off to the side to let it rest lax upon the bedspread.

Slowly, Blaine draws Kurt's zipper down. He tries to imagine this is the first time he's doing this, while also remembering the first time he did. It's not so different, but he wishes now he'd taken more time then. So he'll take the time now. Blaine reaches into Kurt's open pants, finds soft gray cotton, stretched warm over the column of his hard cock. The fly of Kurt's underwear (snug Calvin Klein boxers today) has snaps. Blaine uses both hands to pull them apart, one by one. His heartbeat rises in his throat, and he glances up to see how Kurt's doing.

He finds Kurt flushed everywhere he's bare. His chest rises and falls with deep breaths, and his eyes are closed tight. The rush of blood pushes Kurt's cock up against Blaine's fingertips. "Still okay?" he asks, because he would have, back then, when he was worried about going too fast for Kurt. Everything between them today feels just as delicate.

Kurt's mouth opens to speak, but he just nods. Blaine slips his fingers into the open fly, brushes along hot, satin-smooth skin, and Kurt whimpers. Blaine reaches in farther, wraps his fingers loosely around Kurt's shaft and brings him out so he can see him, the heavy length of Kurt's erection cradled in his hand.

"You're gorgeous," Blaine says, and he catches the heady sex-scent of Kurt's arousal. It taps an even deeper hunger.

Kurt breath puffs out in a soft laugh, which quickly turns to a bitten off groan as Blaine firms his hold and drags his fist up, and then down again.

"I could— Would you like me to kiss you here?" Blaine asks as, on the next pull up, he runs his thumb up over Kurt's glans, smears a slippery bead of precome in a small circle; he aches to taste.

With a shudder, "A kiss? Oh..." Kurt says wonderingly. "You don't have to... do that."

"Your cock is so pretty. I'd really like to," Blaine says. He settles down until he's so close he knows Kurt can feel his breath on his skin.

"Oh my god," Kurt mumbles, and he sounds just as shocked as he would were this the first time.

"Tell me, Kurt, please? I don't want to do anything you don't want. Do you want my mouth on you? "

"Yes, okay, _that_."

So Blaine kisses his cock with soft lips and a closed mouth; he kisses everywhere he can reach, slow and chaste. Savors the soft skin, the heat, and scent of Kurt, the inarticulate sounds Kurt's making, the tension growing in his thighs and his restless squirming hips, the way his belly hollows between each quick breath—the barely audible whine deep in his throat, and the way his hands grab so helplessly at the bedding.

"Blaine," Kurt finally gasps. Could you... Please?"

"Could I...?" Blaine prompts; he rubs his bottom lip against the sensitive notch of Kurt's frenulum.

Kurt huffs and grunts, Blaine moves his grip to hold Kurt's hips firmly against the bed, and he exhales across Kurt's dick. He needs Kurt to say it. He wanted, in his old fantasy, for Kurt—so innocent back then—to need him so badly, to be so lost to his lust, that he would give voice to the secret, powerful words that described his desire. It's different circumstances, but Blaine needs the same thing now.

"Kurt," Blaine soothes. "I don't want to assume. You have to tell me."

"Please, Blaine. Would you do... more? With your mouth?"

"More?" Blaine asks. "Like this?" He uses his tongue, licks up the underside of Kurt's cock, flattens his tongue over the head, and ends with a generous and wet, open-mouthed kiss.

Kurt's back arches. "Yes," he hisses, digging his fingers into the duvet like an ecstatic cat. "Ooh, more... like that."

But Blaine doesn't open his mouth wide enough to slide down over Kurt's cock. He continues with the kissing, only now with open lips and an eagerly exploring tongue. He takes his time, tasting Kurt with sucking kisses and curling licks, tracing the intimate topography of his cock, until Kurt is straining against the hold Blaine has on his hips, whimpering and panting.

"Christ," Kurt grits out, and he breaks from the shared fantasy to say, "You know I can't come like this."

But the disruption just makes Blaine grin. He stays with it. "Is that what you want? Do you want me to make you come?"

"Uh huh."

"Would you tell me how you want me to—?"

"For god's sake, Blaine," Kurt says, and one hand moves to Blaine's head, digs into his short hair for emphasis. "Just suck my cock."

The words are the exact thrill Blaine's been hoping for. He closes his eyes for a moment to savor them, and then he gives Kurt a cocky, "Your command is my wish."

Kurt gives him a _look_, tugs his hair, and says with fond exasperation, "Come on."

So Blaine does. He sinks his mouth down over Kurt's cock with a happy hum, tries to feign a lack of skill, but his enthusiasm is all real. It doesn't take long, but he loves every precious second of it. Kurt comes hard, half sitting with both hands buried in Blaine's hair, swearing as his body seizes up.

After, Kurt pulls Blaine up into his arms—with a breathless, "God, come up here with me, that was so hot, you're _so_ good,"—to kiss Blaine open-mouthed and sloppy, while he unzips Blaine's pants and jerks him off until Blaine comes all over Kurt's belly and himself.

"Holy hell," Kurt says, releasing Blaine's cock and sinking limply back into the bedding. Blaine rolls off him to strip himself out of his sweaty, rumpled clothes. He got semen on both his shirt and his pants. He grabs a handful of tissues from his nightstand and wipes up the mess on Kurt's torso. Kurt clumsily pulls his t-shirt off over his head.

"I can do some laundry before you go," Blaine offers, as he dabs at a splatter on Kurt's pants. "If you want to take these off? You can borrow something to wear. Or, um, I actually still have some of your clothes here."

"You just want me naked," Kurt says with a weary, crooked grin, but he wriggles out of his jeans and underwear obligingly.

Once they're both naked and relaxing on the bed, Kurt closes his eyes, and Blaine reaches for his hand. He'll take the clothes down to the laundry soon enough. He doesn't want to leave this moment just yet. They lie together with just the music washing over them and the push of warm air from the ceiling vent wafting across their cooling skin.

The playlist has moved on. Blaine sometimes wonders if his iPod shuffle reads his mind, though he tries not to attach too much significance to it.

_"In our lighter moments  
precious few,_

_It's all that heavy weather  
We're going through." _

Kurt's breathing is slow and even, Blaine squeezes his hand and speaks not only to confess, but also to break the melancholy of the music settling over them. "That was actually pretty close to one of my very first sex fantasies about you. Thank you."

Opening his eyes, Kurt smiles, but the humor doesn't quite reach his eyes. A shadow has returned. "You never told me that one."

_"Nothing lasts forever  
Of that I'm sure."_

"At some point, it seemed a little redundant, you know?"

After a while, "I guess," Kurt says, and though gentle, his voice is colored by sadness.

It sounds too much like regret. Blaine frowns. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Kurt retrieves his hand from Blaine and rolls away to sit up on the edge of the bed, his back to Blaine. He shoves both hands through his sex mussed hair. "I have no idea what I'm doing," Kurt admits.

Blaine looks at the ceiling, and he considers getting up to turn off the music. It may be the tangle of past and present is becoming too much for either of them to navigate with any grace. But the music has helped bring them here, so Blaine lets it play. He glances over at Kurt, so far away and looking so uncertain. Replies with a question, "Well, um, what are you trying to do?"

Kurt looks over his shoulder at Blaine. "I don't know. Maybe I'm still trying to get this out of my system. I thought I had at Christmas. I thought we were..." Kurt's lips twist around the next word like he hates the speaking of it. "Done."

"Is that...? Is that really what you want?"

Kurt is silent, turns his attention away.

"Maybe we're doing something new?" Blaine suggests, putting as much lightness and optimism into the words as he can.

"And what is that?" Distant—not cold, but sad.

"Do we need to label it something other than friendship?" Blaine asks.

"Just friends, Blaine?" It's brittle—and delivered with a sharp look back. "I know you believe we're more than that."

Blaine tries very hard not to flinch, and he bites back several of the things he wants to say, about what this means to him, and what he suspects it means to Kurt. What it means about them. But he knows none of it will help. What he needs to do is provide Kurt with whatever will make him feel most content and safe here. Which means this needs to be low pressure, easy. Fun.

So Blaine doesn't say, they may be friends first, but that's not all they are. They're so much more than friends, and they always will be no matter what. Instead he says something he knows to be true, even if it's only a small part of it. "If that's what you want, Kurt. We _are_ friends. And we're having fun, right? Isn't that what you said yesterday?"

Kurt grins wryly and shakes his head like he doesn't believe Blaine. "Now who's trying to minimize this?"

Blaine rolls over and pushes up to his knees. He shuffles over to Kurt and puts his hands on his shoulders. "I'm serious. We're good together, you can't deny that any more than I can. We're really good at _sex_ together, so, you know, if we're both technically single and in the same place, then why not?" Blaine has to pause to take a fresh breath of air and fortify himself to say the next thing, "Hook up?"

"Why not," Kurt echoes, but not as a question. "You make it sound so simple."

"Maybe this can be?"

Kurt smiles, something weary in his gaze, and Blaine is heartened. "That would be nice," Kurt says. "To have something that's simple between us."

"I don't want you to regret this weekend, okay?"

Kurt presses his lips together and looks at his knees.

"You're the one who told me this kind of thing shouldn't hurt me," Blaine says. "It shouldn't hurt you either."

Kurt's breath catches and his eyelids slip down as he leans back into Blaine's hands. "It's actually kind of hard to imagine that," he whispers.

When Kurt's eyes open again, shimmering with unshed tears. Blaine is at a loss. He doesn't know what more to do or say. Wishes he could somehow let Kurt feel his heart, and feel Kurt's in return, so they could both truly know and understand. If he could do that, he could heal this pain between them, because Kurt would _know_ and there'd be no more doubt or fear. He reaches around and places his palm over Kurt's heart and pulls him back against his chest. Kurt comes into his arms without resistance.

All Blaine has are his stupid same words, things he's said so many times, he knows they aren't enough, but all he can do is say them again. "Sweetheart, Kurt, I lo—"

"Please, don't say it." Kurt turns in his arms.

"It's still true," Blaine says.

Kurt shakes his head and takes Blaine by the shoulders, then he presses Blaine back onto the bed. "Maybe, but I want to do this with you anyway, and I'm so tired of thinking about it and talking about it." Kurt gathers up Blaine's wrists and pushes them over his head, but he releases them quickly and rests his hands upon Blaine's chest. Blaine opens his legs when Kurt steps between them with his knees.

Looking down at him, Kurt says, "Just... ask me for something I can give you? Something that's simple?"

Blaine thinks of and rejects several sex related requests. There are many things he could ask for, but the things he wants most are not simple. If they're truly friends, then Blaine wants to take care of that friendship, too. "What time is your flight tomorrow?" he asks

"Afternoon. Why?"

"Then, would you consider staying tonight?"

Kurt frowns.

"We could clean up and go downstairs," Blaine says. He covers Kurt's hands with his own. "I'd love to make you dinner—I've been expanding my repertoire and I make this pretty amazing penne dish with kale and Italian sausage. It's better than anything on the Breadstix menu, anyway."

A slow smile spreads across Kurt's lips.

"And then we could see what's on the DVR, or bake some cookies. Mess around together on the piano, or go for a walk to enjoy the snow under the starlight—The Williams still have their Christmas lights up, they look amazing. Or, I don't know—we could play a game of checkers?"

Kurt's smile widens with amusement, and he raises an eyebrow. "You want to play checkers with me? Really?"

"It's a simple game, Kurt."

"I actually meant for you to ask me for a sex thing, Blaine," Kurt says, teasing, but there's something else in his voice, too: a trace of tenderness—and perhaps gratitude also.

"Yeah, well, we can do a sex thing later if you still want to. But as much as I miss and enjoy sex with you? There are other things I miss just as much, and since you're my best friend, and you're leaving tomorrow, don't you think we can expand on our options for tonight?"

Kurt relaxes. "You know what? You're right, and all of that really does sound like fun."


End file.
